When I requested that he change my laptop background into something that would include “those two hot guys from The Mentalist”, he did not bat an eyelash but instead was all, “Of course,” and now I can gaze upon the awesomeness of Simon Baker and Owain Yeoman all day long, to my heart’s content.
Celebrate Good Times, Come On!
I’m All For Saving Money, But I Draw The Line At This
A few months ago the big cat was diagnosed with an overactive thyroid, so we’ve been having to give her thyroid medicine twice a day. This afternoon as we were working on our monthly budget, my husband decided to do some research to see if we could get her pills cheaper online.
He found the information he was looking for, and then decided to see what else they had to offer.
“Hey, look!” he exclaimed after a moment, and I glanced up to see a picture of one of my prescriptions displayed on the screen.
“Dude,” I said, “I don’t care how cheap it is, I AM NOT BUYING MY FIBROMYAGLIA MEDICINE FROM PETMEDS.COM!”
And Then My Head Exploded
My husband and I spent this afternoon running around, doing errands. As we were driving down the road, sun shining, breezes blowing, he began to speak.
“I saw,” he began thoughtfully, “as tastefully as something like this could be done, someone playing the kazoo with their vagina.”
Me: …………
Me: ———
Me: “WHAT?! WHERE IN THE WORLD DID YOU SEE SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!”
“Hey!” he protested, “I saw it on a talent show. It’s not like this was some dark, hidden corner of the Internet. This was on TV!”
“I have no idea what to say to that,” I told him, as I watched all the pieces of my brain float out the window and land on the side of the road.
“And it’s not like it was some kind of trashy, trailer-park woman, either,” he continued. “You know, it was a nice, well-dressed woman-someone you might see in church.”
And then I thought for a few minutes, about how long it’s been since we’ve been to any church, about how even the idea of church makes me feel as though I’m breaking out in hives, and about my problems with the whole concept of organized religion in general.
“You know,” I said thoughtfully, “that would be a church I might actually attend.”
It Must Be Love
So I went to get another foot detox this morning, and since my husband was just coming out of a massage as my appointment started, he decided to stick around and see for himself all the weird goo that comes out of my feet. (I don’t know why. I mean, I adore my husband, but no way would I stick around to see disgusting crap come out of his feet. Blech!)
It took a while to get the whole process going, but soon the ick was flowing freely, and my husband and the therapist were fascinated.
“Ooh, look,” he said, about 20 minutes into the process, “you’ve got all these really gross rings around your feet. Cool.”
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “I’m like my own, disgusting planet.”
“Exactly!” he agreed.
“Well it’s nice to know that, even after all these years, I’ve still got some mystery left,” I told him.
“I know,” he said. “Who knew that you were filled with so much YUCK?!”
13 Years Later, And We’ve Still Got That Magic
Yesterday.
Me: (lying on the couch, attempting to relax)
Me: (unable to do so, because of the pounding, repetitive baseline that has been emanating from my husband’s office for what seems like the past 7 years)
So I went to his office to share with him my nervous breakdown due to sensory overwhelm investigate
My husband: “Hey, baby, what’s up?”
Me: “Your music makes me want to stab myself in the face.”
My husband: “Excuse me?”
Me: “It sounds like you’ve just been listening to the same song OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN for like, the past hour. Dar nar nar nar NAR NAR! Dar nar nar nar NAR NAR! What is that?”
My husband: (checking iTunes): “It is a jam session by Albert Collins. Apparently it’s been playing for 34 minutes, and it has 22 minutes left to go.”
Me: (whimpering)
My husband: “It’s great. I love it.”
Me: “No. It’s like someone is taking a sledgehammer to my spine.”
My husband: “Cool! Now I know what to play on our next car trip.”
Hm, No Wonder I Have Money Issues
Yesterday my husband and I were discussing money, and he said he thought it would be a good idea to try out one of those websites that helps you track your finances. I said I thought that was a good idea too, and asked if he had a particular site in mind.
“I do,” he said. “It’s called ‘Mint’.”
” ‘Mint” as in ‘mint chocolate’?” I asked, excitedly.
“Well, yes,” replied my husband, heroically controlling his laughter. “But also ‘mint’ as in, ‘the place where they store money’.”
And The Two Shall Become One
My Husband: “Have you ever been swept away by a wave of OCD so strong that it carried you to one complete extreme in the way that you did something, only to have it sweep you back later and compel you to completely undo the complex organizational system it forced you to construct in the first place?”
Me: “Uh, you’ve pretty much just described my entire life right there.”
Why I Love My Husband So Much: Reason 5
Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.
He is totally unfazed when I call him up at work to ask him urgent questions such as, “Which is funnier-tomatoes or cucumbers?” And then actually gives me a helpful, thought-out response.
And I Haven’t Even Taken Any Pain Medicine Lately
Nineteen years ago last month (!!!!) I attended my first official outing as my husband’s (then brand-new boyfriend’s) girlfriend, when I went to the ceremony in which he would be presented with his Eagle Scout award. I was pretty anxious about this whole situation because it involved going to a Catholic mass, and I myself had never really ventured outside the protective bounds of my safe little evangelical, fundamentalist Protestant world.
Being the sensitive guy that he is, he picked up on my nervousness, and also being the kind of person who likes to poke people in their vulnerable spots with hot, flaming, pointy sticks tease, he took advantage of my unfamiliarity with Catholicism to sort of “build the suspense” as it were, and allude to the fact that there was going to be A Very Special Surprise at this particular mass. Unfortunately, he was quite young, and hadn’t ever learned that there were people in the world who considered the Catholic Church to be the demonic offspring of the Anti-Christ and The Whore Of Babylon, and so was unaware of the increasing psychic burden he was placing upon me.
By the night of the ceremony I was completely freaked out, so I asked my mom if she would come with me, and she said yes. This was pretty hysterical now that I think about it, because if ever there were two “Good Girls” who would do anything to keep the peace and make sure that everyone liked them, it would be us (“What? Oh, you need some naked maidens to lie down on this altar up here, right underneath all those very large knives? Yeah, okay, sure. Where do we change?”) (So the moral of this story would be, Two Good Girls=No Protection Whatsoever Against Imagined Incursions By Hostile, Alien Religions.)
As it turns out, the Very Special Surprise ended up being nothing more than “The Blessing Of The Throats”, where they put two holy candles on your throat and bless you as a sort of a protection against getting sick, which, given the events of the past year, is actually pretty tame. (See: “Stool Transplants”, or, “The Horrifying Last Resort Treatment For C DIFF Which Thank God I Didn’t Have To Endure, But Which My Doctor Thinks Is Hilarious To Remind Me Of Every Time I Go In For An Office Visit, Even Though I’ve Been Free Of The Disease For Over A Year Now.)
But I am happy to report that everyone survived this incident completely intact, and he and I are getting ready to celebrate our 13th wedding anniversary, and he has continued to be involved with Scouting over the years.
The reason I am bringing all of this up now is that he recently received the latest issue of “Scouting” magazine which has been lying on our kitchen table all week. It features a cover story entitled, “Camp Cooking Winners,” but every time I walk by I read it as “Camp Cooking Wieners“, which is no surprise, because despite my chronological age (thirty-six), I’m pretty sure that internally I’ve never gotten past the age of twelve.
However now that I am (allegedly) a grown-up, I feel a certain responsibility to “walk the moral high ground”, as it were, and refrain from even the thought of sexual euphemisms when it comes to an organization that deals with young children. I told my husband that I could feel the eyes of the Troop Leader featured on the cover following me whenever I walked by, silently condemning me for my improper behavior.
“Well if it really bothers you,” he said, “we can just turn the magazine over.” Which he did.
But unfortunately, this didn’t help at all. Because the entire back cover of the magazine is a full-sized ad which proclaims,
“NUTS FOR SCOUTING!”